


changeling child

by formeldehyde



Series: tetra heart [3]
Category: My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Sex Slavery, Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Foster Care, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder-Suicide, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pedophilia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Rape, Sadism, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formeldehyde/pseuds/formeldehyde
Summary: prequel to nights decor. brendon's view. born into abusive household and falling into a void of prostitution and drugs. lost in a frozen heart.





	1. mormon blood

born into strict mormon bones. these suburban streets birthed brendon boyd urie. church choked into his throat but nothing burned more than the stench of booze wafting off his father.   
first eight years of his life the too big house his family occupied echoed with screams and glass smashing covered by religious music playing from the record in the living room.   
he didn't get the worst of it, that would be his mother, but the constant fear pumping through his veins caused a paranoid isolation from others. no teacher nor classmate did he trust with even a word. head nods and gestures, carefully holding the ends of his sweater to hide large cigar burns and finger shaped bruises that scarred his arms.   
his mother was a painfully restricted woman. her heart buried deep inside a charred set of lungs. tears never leaving her eyes as she stood and let the inevitable happen. falling into a hazy dissociative state of human punching bag. flaming anger spewing from his lips went in one ear and out the other.   
that's not to say that he and his siblings were saved by maternal sacrifice. it just meant his father got tired and passed out quicker if he started with her.   
each sibling had dead eyes and mutilated flesh. makeup caked on to cover every black eye and tissues for every bloody nose.   
the house was cold. his dad always too drunk to feel the frigidness, and no one dared to touch the thermostat. so brendon was cold. as his bones grew and spread in a haze of childhood, they were infused with liquid nitrogen. his heart a wind storm blowing snow like large clouds in his chest.   
it stayed, out of state and out of home. the ice water that ran through his veins seemed permafrost, never thawing.   
and now, he is curled up in his room. the overpriced but still freezing blankets huddled around him, his tongue glide over his lilac lips. gangly young limbs tucked away and tiny hands holding ears to mask the sounds that bleed through the floorboards from downstairs.   
when he wakes up to feel himself being drug out of his bed, head slamming hard onto wooden ground, he immediately cries. and he feels weak, his siblings never cry. brendon can't help but sob as he hears his dad screaming like passing trains. "you're fuckin' cryin' brendon?! are ya' fuckin' kiddin' me, i didn't raise a faggot!"   
that night bloomed his entire face in bruisers and cuts from his fathers class ring. taste of blood seemed ever lasting and he stayed home from school the whole week, his mom making him ice his face in hopes of the bruises going down.  
they did, two weeks later they were yellow and his sister covered in him in concealer and dragged him onto the bus.   
brendon felt eyes on his back, he turned quickly and saw a small tan boy turn his head away. he ignored it, staring out the window and letting his fingers run over the sore skin under his eyes.   
by the time they got to school, brendon handed the bullshit doctors note his brother made him to his teacher and sat in the back of the room. huddled in a hoodie as he bit on his fingernails. the classroom was a plague, but at least he knew that for those eight hours he was away from his father. never truly free you see, for the memories played on the backs of his eyes every time he blinked.  
"brendon? brendon?"   
     brendon snapped his head up from resting on his arms. his teacher staring at him, and everyone in class. fear and paranoia froze inside him. terror of knowledge. that people can see the discoloration underneath his mothers makeup too dark on his skin.   
     "brendon are you alright honey? you seem a little out of it." mrs.smith said in a voice that was too sweet. artificial sugar, teeth rotting fake affection.   
     he nods, bringing his eyes back down to the paper. drawing absentmindedly on the desk as she returned her focus back to the class.  
      when they returned home, his dad passed out on the couch. he ran up to his room and locked it, tucking himself under the covers.


	2. massacre in storge

that night, at dinner, it happened. his father stormed in after they had already started eating. raving about how they acted as if he wasn't the patriarch of this family, that they didn't say grace, didn't wait for him.   
     brendon could sense it before it happened. the way his fathers screams seemed final, the meal itself felt like last supper. each hesitant bite of food as they awaited their father felt pathetically savored. and as his dad sat at the head of the table, golden spiral leading to him, brendon heard the trigger before the first shot.   
       after that, glasses shattered as brendon watched his family get shot in the head one by one. execution of ones own kin, a sin beyond many. he was the youngest and by the time his dad reached him, he tried to duck but he felt the bullet sink into his chest. felt it splitting through his skin and lodging itself inside him.  
there was a millisecond, a flashing of his entire heart and life in all its torture and restriction. it was a twisting ache of everything it wasn't. he felt like he wanted to die, and that was the flaming pain that spread like fire from the bulletwound. and that was the sadness, for a life lived short but not worth living at all. in the background he can hear nurses, as he's pulled into an ambulance. blue masks and gloves surround him, holding him down in his own grave. they poke and prod at his chest, holding it with enough pressure to make his ribs feel like they could snap any second.  
the only words he could understand were "who did this?"  
and with the voice he hasn't used in years, a broken squeak answered "my father." before brendon lost consciousness.   
-  
drug and blood loss induced slumber provided something brendon had never felt. warm honey drenched heat poured over his body, sweat dripping off his small frame.   
he could see a dining table, sat in the middle of an open field. the sun too close to the earth, taking up half the sky in a tangerine hellfire. his family sat down, each with empty eyes and blood pouring out their mouths and from the gashing wounds in their skulls. dinner on the table as his dad ate calmly, asking brendon to pass the salt.  
he did, with shaking hands, reaching over his sisters limp arm to hand it to his father. he grabbed it from his son, other hand holding a large butchers knife. before brendon could recognize this, the knife was plunged into his chest, pulled out and pulled brendon's heart out. throwing it on the table and dousing it in salt. the sun rays catching fire to his free heart and burning it.   
he screamed and screamed, hands shoving themselves into the now open casm of his chest. he ripped and ripped and clawed at his ribs. crying as the rest of the table went up in flames. he ran, leaving his heart on that table to turn to ash.   
he woke up.   
-  
the cold reality of the hospital room set in. freezing tones of blue and white reminded him too much of that big empty house. of couches too perfect to have been sat in, of broken bones, bruises and vases thrown at every already dented wall.   
"hi brendon. i'm detective dun, i'm here to ask you about what happened at the house." the cop was a short woman, her hair was red and she seemed so kind. "now i know that you're just waking up so if you could just say anything you remember, i can fill it what happened once the police arrived."  
brendon nodded, his voice still shrill. "i uh... i was having supper. and my dad was mad that we started eating without him and without saying grace..." brendon took a jagged breath, hazy pain still dripping out of his chest.  
"i'm sorry if this is rough for you, sweetheart." detective dun sat on a chair next to brendon's bed. "i'm just trying to get the story."  
"h-he's usually scary. but tonight he was so so scary. he s-shot my whole family in their heads and m-me in the chest-why am i alive?"  
her eyes seemed to soften at that, "you were saved. the bullet perfectly missed your heart and all major arteries. it's a miracle."   
brendon didn't feel like a miracle. he felt like this was a mistake. like he should've died with his brothers and sisters. why did he get to live longer in this life that had brought him nothing but pain? was miracle living a life now shrouded in pity for the young boy abused and family murdered by his own father. brendon didn't want to live that life. "it's not a miracle. i don't wanna live bein' pitied, mrs.dun."   
"why do you say that?"  
"i'm always gonna be the kid who was abused. the kid with adhd. the kid who's family's d-dead." brendon's eyes watered, filling to the brim with salty tears that flooded down his cheeks.   
the detective grabbed brendon's hand and her face fell as he flinched away from her. "i'm sorry, some people say physical contact eases pain. of the heart or body."  
"contact causes nothing b-but pain." brendon shuttered as he realized he had no makeup on. he was naked, his life long secret was visible, bruises, cuts, burns, and bullet hole.  
detective dun stood up, clipboard in hand. "thank you for your time sweetheart. someone will be in to talk to you about your condition and housing arrangements." and with that she was gone.   
-  
the doctor explained he would need to stay in the hospital for a month to let the wound heal, keep him under watch for his own safety. that part brendon understood. however, when a blonde woman with big blue eyes told him she would find him a new family, he wouldn't allow. he nodded politely and shook her hand when she left.   
        weeks went by and then brendon, chest mostly healed and stitches removed, was put into a foster home for abused children. it was painted nauseating yellow inside, and brendon hated seeing the pity in the mothers eyes as every child flinched or refused to speak to her. not for her sake, but the pity was painful enough.   
he left after the thirteenth home, ranging between abuse worse than his fathers and houses so restricted and fake that it made him sick. from apartments to huge houses with lonely widows. he left in the middle of the night, outside of columbus. he walked past highways until he found himself in front of a serpents lair.


	3. serpent in eden

his life was never at stake cause he never imagined living, he only lived each day to survive. and now, as he finds himself wandering through the kitchen of a smoky house party, he wonders how these people lived. their bloodshot eyes avoiding the small boy completely.   
the house was had dark maroon carpeting, and once he made his way through the cloud of haze and stench of booze, he was there. sitting on the staircase nursing a cigarette.   
      his hair was long and dark, knowing now that the beauty that graced his ageless face was siren infused. luring him in, preying on his youthful flesh.  
      but as it happened then, brendon was called over, with the mans hand guiding him. "what brought ya' in here?" he asked, smoke spilling out of his lips. brendon's eyes caught on the black lip ring and inside he imagined his fathers remark.   
      "ran away," brendon answered with a confidence shield in some attempt to impress the man in front of him, unused voice crackling like a fire. his naive eyes wide and now he wishes he could've beat the trust out of childhood gaze.  
       the man chuckled, running a tattooed hand through his greasy hair. "wow, that must've been scary, huh?"   
     brendon giggled, "no! just hate all the dumb places they try to put me." every 'home' was one more hell infused building. it's own tensions dripping into brendon's blood like an IV.   
      "put ya?" his eyes raked over brendon, inquisitively. his interest was peaked in the boy.  
     "my dad killed m' whole family. i was the only survivor. now they try to put me in foster houses with fake moms and stuff. s'no better than where i was before." brendon was used to this story, each foster home or wayward boys program would gawk in horror at the monstrosity. either pitying or fearing brendon under the guise of his father's acts. lonely, cold, nights on creaking twin mattresses. painful aches burnt into the long stitched laceration down his young form. only light filtering through blackout curtains over early equinox snow.  
     "oh shit," the man went to take a sip of something out of a silver flask, before he lowered it and offered it to brendon. "ya' may need this more than i do." he smiled, and brendon's knees went weak in how warm that grin was. brendon would do anything he asked.   
     of course, brendon knew what was in that flask and he was terrified. he saw what alcohol did to his father, blind rage and pain resulted from intoxicated blood. but, he needed to belong. he needed him to want brendon. wanted to leech onto the warmth that seemed to surround him. thaw the pain inside himself. he grabbed the flask and swallowed a large swig. he fought the grimace on his face as the burning of his throat. he felt a heatwave and buzz reverberate from his rib cage.   
      "how'd ya' like that lil' man?" he was smiling wide, taking another drag of his cigarette.  
     "i like that very much! what is it?" brendon smiled wide, for once not fearing the display of vulnerability in happiness.  
      "whiskey...lil something to keep your spirits up."   
     "what's your name?" brendon asked, needing something to call him as he daydreamed about a life warm with him. he reminded him so painfully of older brothers or fathers he never had. but something about that idea churned uncomfortable nausea in his stomach.  
      "oh i can't believe i forgot to introduce myself! my name's frank. and what's your name beautiful boy?" frank was such a simple and kind name.  
     brendon hid his blush, reminded of why he got nauseous imagining frank as his brother. "b-brendon. but i hate it! reminds me of my dad." brendon boyd urie- full name forever drenched in pain. belt shaped marks and crosses gazing down on neglect under false pretenses outlined by biblical texts. his mom would say it in warning tones, or in her last scream as it echoed through the empty souls of his siblings lifeless corpses.   
"i don't like it either. sounds like brandon... how about something else?" frank smiled, pushing his long hair off his face.   
      "i want something cool. you pick it!"  
      frank laughed, taking a hit of his cigarette. "ya' think i'm cool?" frank was leaning close to brendon now, his aura so inviting it almost seemed too good to be true.   
      brendon laughed, moving closer to frank. "the coolest!"  
      "okay lil flower... how bout dylan? s'not as clunky or confusing as brendon."   
       brendon/dylan nodded excitedly. "thank ya' frankie!!"   
      "it's perfect for a cool dude like you." frank laughed again, taking another swig and offering it back to the young boy. he took it, throat still burning as he looked around to see the party. the men and women mixed together in a gorgeous crowd bleeding smoke and laughter.   
      frank sat up, grabbing brendon's small hand. he lured him around the house, introducing him as dylan to many people. they all seemed nice, brendon smiled widely at all of them. piercings glinting in low light, bright red hair on one pale man that looked at brendon in horror.   
      "frank?" dylan asked after he took another three sips of the burning liquid. he could feel his vision melting. his heart blooming with franks flowers.  
      "yea dyl?"   
      "i wann' stay here. with ya'... forever." dylan fell onto frank, stumbling over the bottom stair.   
       "well how could i pass up that offer?" frank smiled, pulling dyl onto his lap. dylan laughed warmly, wrapping his arms around franks neck and closing his eyes. the warm chemical burning within his stomach lulling him to sleep, frank's arms the safest he'd felt his whole life. his heart was so full. he wish he had known that night he slept in the snake pit. in a poisonous garden where temptation manifested in frank, promising brendon now dylan something he wouldn't have for years.   
       only after so many halfway houses will they stop looking for you. brendon only wished they kept because maybe dylan would never have existed.  
-  
brendon woke up being spooned by frank, on a big mattress surrounded by red walls. white morning light poured into the dark room, his skin hot and he could feel franks breath on the back of his neck. he smiled, flipping and nuzzling into franks chest. he smelled like old books and cherry cigars. brendon could let himself get dizzy with the scent.  
"g'mornin' angel," frank muttered lazily.   
"morning," brendon sighed into frank's neck.   
they slept for another few hours, brendon curled in frank's arms. listening to the sound of everyone leaving from downstairs after the party.   
that day they spent in bed, brendon pouring his soul from his lips because frank listened. he rubbed brendon's leg when he told him about his dad and the hospital. he smiled when brendon told him he loved the piano and offered the one downstairs anytime brendon wanted. his eyes even watered when brendon began to explain how he believed frank was his guardian angel. "ya' hafta' be! i've never felt safe in m' whole life frankie. but i feel safe with you."  
around evening, brendon found himself uncomfortably close to frank. frank's fingers twisted in his hair as brendon was humming softly. brendon felt franks lips against his neck. kissing so gently he barely noticed. until he started biting at the exposed flesh.  
"w-what're you doin?" brendon giggled at the sensation.  
"jus' gotta make sure people know you're mine. so no one tries to steal ya'." frank pressed a kiss to brendon's lips before he went back to his neck, working a large bruise on the crook of his neck. brendon fought the bubbling heat in his stomach. and the unavoidable thought that franks hands over his skin felt as restricting as his fathers.   
he walked downstairs for the first time wearing only franks old shirt as it hung too big over his bones. that red haired boy looked at him with even more horror now, like brendon was a ghost walking these halls. "i'm dyl-"  
"frank. over here. now." the man cut him off, walking to a room behind the kitchen.  
frank smiled at brendon, "he'll only be a sec dyl, could ya' make us some coffee?"  
bren-dylan nodded. walking to the pot. he heard in hushed tones a conversation he didn't understand.   
"frank you can't do this. you can't."   
"i can do whatever i want, gee. he has nowhere else to go."  
"the streets are better than the shit you'll get him into."  
"i'm not getting him into anything!"  
"bullshit."  
"i don't have to hear this from you."  
"he's nine!"  
frank left, storming out of the back room and grabbing brendon's hand. "lets go."   
apparently lets go meant frank was taking brendon to a friends house. it was a bit down the road. brendon was told he couldn't leave franks lap. so he didn't. he stayed curled up while the people around him gambled and smoked. a man with tall hair explaining to dylan how to smoke a cigarette:  
frank smiled proudly at him when he asked to bum one. he slid one out of his pack and placed it between brendon's lips, lighting it with his black lighter.  
"my gorgeous boy," frank said, pressing a kiss to brendon's forehead.   
-  
falling into the drug bliss within tattooed hands came easy after that, frank wanting to teach him everything under the sun. he never looked prouder than when dylan smiled up at him after taking a shot, a hit, shooting up. and the way dylan went mostly limp, clawing at frank, seemed to please him even more. he'd pull dylan into his arms, bite gently over the mark on his neck. it made him feel so terribly wrong , his whole life he was warned against homosexuality. sin was not something urie children were supposed to do, so brendon denounced the urie name. it was frank's idea, when brendon first told him.  
      "m-my dad said if two men love each other it's a sin," he said, still curled in franks lap, head swimming in a glorious heat wave of heroin. he felt like he may drown in the honey river pulling him down and down. but his mind stays on frank. the slow distortion of his reality flooded with the feeling of franks hands on his skin.  
     "ya' dad was lying. there's nothin' wrong with what we have, dyl." frank seemed to be getting angry, his hand grasping at brendon's waist like he may float away. it sparked fear in brendon's heart but it was soon doused in nicotine as frank smiled, giving him a cigarette. sharing the smoke as frank talks to the tall man. if only he had known, he could've ran. that mans gaze felt like needles prodding into his flesh reflective of surgery induced panic.  
     breath before the scream, the feeling of falling while you're asleep, the first step into the unknown. that was dallon weekes. man with eyes darker than the pit of almost death brendon fell into the moment a bullet sunk into his skin. the second he sat down for dinner.   
brendon settles into the bones of dylan easily, finding the comfort in the way franks early morning voice croaks out "morn' dyl' baby." the difference is subtle. in the way he allows frank to keep the bruise on his neck a constant dark lilac. in his submission as he lets white powder grace his nose. the kisses that lost too long. the way gerard almost gives up on trying to get him on the street.   
frank and him leave the house more often than not now, dylan stays in the car on quick runs and sits on franks lap during parties. the people he meets are nice to him, telling frank how lucky he is to have him. making dylan blush, cheeks bursting into delicate strawberries. franks hands grip hard on his waist, bruising the soft flesh in another attempt of possession.


	4. addiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: extreme underage sex and drug use, rape, abuse

it began slowly, so slowly it wasn't noticeable until it was too late. brendon followed around frank wherever he went, and missed him when he couldn't. he only got high when frank was there, everything he had was because frank gave it to him. he wore his clothes, smoked his cigs, kissed his lips.   
it was a craving after that. the drugs became a need and therefore so did frank. he was a drug himself in his caring touches, made brendon's head spin and get fuzzy.   
     when brendon gave his heart to frank he gave his life to dylan. dylan was the obedient, the ghost. haunting brendon's body, yet he was the only one.   
       the brand on his skin found brendon's lips often when frank had been gone for too long, he ripped at the mutilated symbol until it was deep and raw. frank would come home and his baby dylan with blood on his lips and tears in his eyes. he'd kiss him, clean him up and gave him whatever he had left. he'd usually give him a few lines and then wrap his belt as tight as possible around brendon's arm as it could go, hand made holes poked in the leather to adjust to the small boy's arm no more than five inches around.   
     when that black honey reached his heart, he would climb close to frank. rest his head to hear his heart beat like the rhythm of the tides. the pulse a thumping beat of the earth's force.   
        his chest was on fire, his head wouldn't stop thinking of frank's hands on his-franks shaking but strong grip as he shoots brendon up. the melt between them after feels like death. everything is light and neon from the store lights outside the window. frank is covered in red from the light reading 'girls'.   
       he would take everything brendon never had. his name gone as frank gasps "dyl," against his sweating flesh.   
         the sky is bleeding, stars falling onto them and the high is unbelievably warm and it feels like love.   
         "i love you."


	5. amputation

brendon woke up in a sweat, feeling like he needed to run. brain flooded in adrenaline as he looked up to see the bed beside him empty.   
hours before it had held the man who said he loved him. he ran downstairs, relived as he saw frank. terrified when he saw the large duffel bag frank had in one hand. gerard stood close by and brendon felt his life swirl in horror. "frank? where are you going...s'late."  
"baby, i have to go to vegas."  
"that's so far...how long'll you be gone?"brendon was scared, the men in the room were all staring at him like he was a snake ready to strike. he ran over to frank, trying to pull him close. "frankie, please."  
        "it's okay, love. you can come-"  
       "n-no no no!" gerard yelled, tripping over his long legs. "please, don't do this, frank. he's just a kid, he's so young." he was crying, chest heaving like he was about to throw up.  
       "enough." frank growled with the voice that sounded like brendon's father. "it is his choice." frank crouched down to look at dylan, not brendon. "dylan, do you want to go back to running from the orphanage or do you want to come with me to vegas?"  
        "come with you! i couldn't leave you, frankie," he exclaimed and pressed his face close to frank's shoulders. but when he pulled back and kissed him, he heard another sob. gerard was rushing toward frank with vicious anger. "FRANK!"  
       frank pushed brendon off him, and grabbed gerard by the sleeve. "shut. your. fucking. mouth."  
      gerard yanked his arm away, storming up the stairs. brendon remembered frank running upstairs to get his things together, brendon followed with shaking steps. when was the last time he ate? he couldn't remember.   
      his hands shook like they were freezing as he shoved the few things he did have into the small backpack frank tossed to him when he made it back into their bedroom. it was simple, frank's hoodie, the bracelet a boy from a halfway house made him, a necklace with a picture of his mother, a few pairs of women's underwear, boys pants and socks frank bought him a few days after he moved in. brendon thought it strange but said nothing because he had nothing. frank gave him something and he was grateful.   
      after his bag was ready, frank was gathering some things from his safe so brendon left, walking across the main hall and down to gerard's room.   
      he knocked softly, with hesitation. his heart was beating rapidly and his nerves were catching up with him as he stood awaiting response. he was going across the country, it was perfect really but it was horribly unknown. brendon had never really left the city. brendon wouldn't. brendon died here. dylan would be the one going to vegas and he felt that he wouldn't come back either.   
       at that realization, he felt his head spin. there was no blood in his body, it had drained out his feet and into this house, it was pulling him down with it. he collapsed in front of gerard's door just as it swung open. caught in bony arms, he was carried inside. he heard the door shut and he feared for what happened every time that frank slammed a door like that.   
      gerard was not a cruel man, his hands were kind and respectful as he propped brendon up, placing a wet rag on his head and forcing him to drink water as he groggily came in and out of consciousness. halfway through the bottle, he gasped awake and gerard grabbed his arm. "are you on something, kid?"  
      "n-no not right now."  
      gerard cringed but nodded. "when did you eat last?"  
      his head felt hot again, the world spun, "ionno know," came slurred out of his lips as his eyes fell shut again.   
      it took another five minutes of this for him to regain enough strength to allow gerard to feed him something soft and it tasted like heaven. he forgot about food. it was just bread, then an apple, then a joint. halfway through, gerard turned to him. "kid, you need to go home. it's so bad for you here, trust me i know so much you don't."  
      those words made frank's stomach hurt, like he was about to see the apple and bread again. he shook his head, "don't have a home."  
      gerard gave him a sympathetic face, "no one you can go to? no family? friends?"  
       "no, sir. jus' me...my family is dead, all of 'em." brendon kept the tears in, taking another long drag of the joint.  
      frank stormed in about two seconds after gerard opened his mouth to say anywhere would be better than here. those words never got out as frank grabbed brendon's arm, and gerard's. "both of you, car. now." he pulled away harshly, twisting gerard's skin visibly as he turned to leave. he stopped at the door, not turning. "dyl, babe, c'mon."  
     brendon hurriedly ran over, bringing the roach with him accidentally. frank laughed and stole it from him, "you're a little stoner, ya' know?"   
      "am not!" he laughed, raising his arms and jumping as he tried to get it back. frank smiled, grabbing him and pulling him up with his other arm before raising it to brendon's lips, letting him have a few drags as they stood in the hall. frank finished it, tossing it on the floor and putting it out with his boot. he carried him to the car, brendon fell asleep on his shoulder during frank's goodbyes to some of the guys downstairs. brendon didn't bother to see who they were. his body was exhausted and he was so high. he wanted to melt into frank's chest, he felt like he was. his heart swelled when frank kept him on his lap for the ride. he felt like the drive would never end, the night was eternal as they drove passed city lights and onto distant highways. frank kissed his forehead the moment they got out of the state. brendon's eyes welled with tears, he dug his face further into frank's jacket, hiding himself from the world.


	6. white memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gee's backstory

gerard had seen frank do horrible things, unspeakable even. but there was something about the way he was treating dylan that made gerard nauseous. frank'd always been sick. he and gerard got together when he was in high school, frank had just graduated, gerard was a sophomore. he'd seen him briefly before, but he barely ever came to school himself. frank was just another face among hundreds. until the labor day before gerard's second year began. 

 his mom had gotten so depressed she barely left her room and the unpaid medical bills had piled up in heaps. gerard worked down the street, at a bakery owned by a woman who might as well have been his mother. she sent him home with food for him and his brother, mikey. the last weekend of august she was in a head on collision and died on impact. gerard was broken, out of a job and out one of the few people who actually gave a shit about what happened to him. that's when he met frank.

it seemed like divine intervention at first. a labor day party at pete's house, gerard only went to drink away mrs.mead's memory with clear liquor and cheap cigarettes. he was sitting on the steps to pete's house, far from the heavy bass of the speakers in the overcrowded basement, puffing on the last joint he had. that's when he heard the sound of feet on gravel, and looked up.

frank was there, and he was so different then. he had a permanent, cheesy grin and a bounce in his step that gerard hadn't had since his father left. "what's up darlin'?" he had a thick jersey accent and was dressed in a big black flag hoodie and ripped jeans. he looked like any other sewer rat you'd see on the street. but then gerard met his gaze. he looked into those big brown eyes and that was it.

"not a man of many words, huh?" frank laughed, taking a gulp of god-know's-what from a cheap cup. 

gerard nodded, taking another puff of the joint, watching as the smoke poured into the air. 

"mind if i join you?"

"go ahead." gerard gestured to the empty spot on the stoop next to him, frank had this shit eating grin on his face that gerard wanted to rip off. he also wanted to kiss it. frank had always brewed conflicting emotions within gerard, always made him nervous and excited or anger and horny. there was no gray with him, only checkered black and white.

"you just out here all by yourself? doesn't seem like too much fun."

"i don't really like anyone here besides pete."

"that makes two of us. i brought a few of my own friends to keep me sane," frank laughed and pulled out a crumpled pack of marlboros. "gotta light?"

gerard nodded, pulling out a white BIC lighter and starting the cherry of the fag now hanging between frank's lips.

"y'know," frank pulled the smoke into his lungs, "white lighters are bad luck." the smoke poured out of his mouth beautifully caught in the red light of the front porch.

"whatever you say," gerard had laughed. 

that night gerard drank for fun, for the first time. he'd been 

after that, it was all downhill. gerard spent the next year chasing frank like a lost puppy, doe eyed in love and, honestly, infatuated with his brown eyes and easy smile. after a few months that crush turned into something new. with their mom gone, mikey and frank were homeless by the time gerard was supposed to be starting junior year, frank offered them a current residency on his pull out couch. after so many runs, after so many late night smoke breaks, gerard finally caved. at the time, he had felt courageous in his act of impulsive need. he cut frank off mid sentence one night on the couch when all the other guys were asleep, climbed onto him and pressed their lips together. he had made the first move but now he knows there was never one second when frank wasn't in control.

it was only while he was in school. that's what gerard told himself. those were the years of stupidity and blind puppy love. of cut classes, lazy mornings, gnawing neediness. he could excuse his own guilt for teenaged stupidity but after senior year ended, he knew it was his fault. frank's outbursts had increased and gerard found out how frank was making his money.   
he could've left then, could've cut frank off for good and worked to keep mikey going. frank had him trapped and enraptured in himself.   
-  
"baby, please. i know i've been on edge lately but all of this is gonna be over soon."  
"what do you mean?"   
"let's get away from here. just for a lil', we've been stuck in this apartment for too long." frank stood up, "let's go on a drive. it'll be quick."  
gee sighed, "fine." he stood up and started to walk out the door, frank hopped in front of him, wrapping him in his hoodie and opening the door for him.  
that fifteen minute drive turned hour. with every exit passed, an uneasy feeling began burning away at gerard's stomach. his eyes caught on the duffel bags in the back that he didn't remember packing. his bones felt like they were shivering despite the heat of the summer. knees weak even as he sat. he could feel them shaking and buckling as his legs bounced on the ground.  
"easy, baby. what's got ya' all worked up?" frank smiled, brining his inked hand to squeeze gerard's thigh, forcing his leg still.   
"w-where are we going?"   
"don't worry about it, hun. i always got ya'."   
and just like that, gerard's head ducked and he felt his heart beat calm. clinging onto frank's fingers that are still in between his thighs. he clung onto them like the last tie to the life he was leaving behind. clung to his mother and her withering body, to his brother who had forgotten him completely, to his old friends he hadn't seen since frank first got him into all this. all these had been long gone, but as the highway stretches on, he feels it tug on his heart just that much more. that he couldn't move past this, that he couldn't drop frank now-his life was dependent on whatever frank wanted.  
      gerard fell asleep, head against the cold glass of the window. he dreamt of tattooed hands wrapped around his neck, of mikey's glassy eyes, of lines of white and red. he woke up crying, frank was pulled in to a gas station and when gerard looked around, he realized he was in ohio. panic set in, inside the empty car in the parking lot of the seven eleven. the doors locked and fumbling fingers found a cigarette, lighting it quickly as he watched the smoke fill the space. frank came out of the station a few minutes later, coffee in hand.   
      "f-frank! where are we? why are we here? please, i'm scared-"  
      "jesus, gee. calm down. we are jus' going to visit a friend. i got a business opportunity i can't miss."  
    "but-"  
"last warning. we are going and thas' it," frank growled, shoving the key into the ignition and pulling off.  
they eventually made it to a dingy motel off the highway, frank still hadn't said any word to him since the gas station and gee's anxiety was burning heavy in his lungs. fingers shaking against his leg, tapping incessantly. frank ushered him out of the car and he followed, cutting in front of gee as he walked to one of the doors, knocking three times on the nauseous yellow door.   
"come in!" a voice called.   
frank grabbed gerard's arm, pulling him close. "you will be respectful, none of this bratty shit, ok? you don't wanna embarrass me do ya?"   
"n-no."  
"there's my boy," frank smiled and pressed a kiss to gerard's forehead.   
inside, gerard could see a light on in the bathroom where he assumed whoever they were meeting was. he curled close to frank as he often did, hanging off him like a child.   
"frank! how are you," the man said as he walked through the doorway. he was tall, hair slicked back, and fingers adorned with way too many rings.   
"m'good. how've you been?" frank reached his hand out to shake the man's hand.   
"long hours, but you get it," he gave a dry laugh. "please take a seat you two, it's a horrible drive from jersey."  
"got that right, mind if i use the can?"   
"yeah it's over there." frank followed the gesture and the door closed behind him.   
gee quickly sat on the stained couch, trying to sink into the cushions as the man's eyes met his.   
"i don't believe i've had the pleasure of being introduced...i'm dallon," he extended his overly accessorized hand and gee shook it hesitantly, his thing spindly fingers dwarfed by dallon's large calloused ones. he pulled gees hand to his face and gave it a kiss.  
he blushed and pulled his hand away, "i'm gerard, frank calls me gee though."  
"i like gee better."  
gerard nodded, still trying to avoid eye contact with the man in front of him.   
"how long have you two been together?"  
"almost three years," frank cut in, closing the bathroom door. "i don't know how he's put up with me for so long," he laughed. both he and gerard both knew he couldn't leave frank even if he wanted to.   
"good for you. i wish i was as lucky."  
frank's eyes iced over. gerard could see the possessiveness in them, it was no surprise when he walked and squeezed next to gerard. gee just smiled at dallon shyly and curled close to frank, breathing in the familiar smell of cigs and cheap cologne.   
dallon licked his lips, refocusing his attention to frank. "so, have you thought about my offer? you came all this way so i'm assuming you have."  
"yea. i'm okay with it as long as we can both come." frank slid his hand between gee's legs. gerard could see this for what it was now. the fight of dominance between two predators. the primal balance being tested, the teeth of wolves sinking into gee as prey. hunting for the weak. he was scared, lamb eyes filling with tears.   
"w-where are we goin' frankie?" he stuttered.   
"vegas. just for a bit okay? i wouldn't wanna go without you sugar but i knew you wouldn't wanna leave. i had no choice but take ya with me now."  
gee nodded, still terrified. but he knew his place, he knew that to be with frank was the safest thing he could do. the only stability he had in his life was him.   
then he felt a hand on his knee, felt cold metal through his skinny jeans. rings. his eyes shot open, dallon was staring at him with a devilish smirk.   
"don't worry, baby. we can take care of you, nothing bad is going to happen."  
gee moved his leg slightly until dallon moved it. gazing up at frank who looked like he was three seconds from snapping dallon's neck. "o-okay."  
"good. so what's your poison?"  
"i jus' like weed," gee answered.   
frank scoffed, earning a glare from gerard.   
dallon laughed, "just weed?"  
"he's lying. he's a lil' coke whore but he won't say it-"  
"frank!"  
"you're a fiend and you know it baby."  
dallon smiled, getting up. "don't worry. i don't judge." he walked over behind the bed and began shuffling through a bag.   
franks hand squeezed at gee's thigh. "don't be mean to him. jus' thank him for what he's offerin'," frank sighed.   
     "sorry." gee ducked his head and stayed silent after that. just watching the floor as dallon lit up a blunt and began making lines on the coffee table in front of the couch. frank was handed the blunt and gee watched as the smoke poured from his mouth and back in. watched as white powder was forced into beautiful uneven lines with the edge of dallon's credit card. gee traced dallon's fingers with his eyes as they raised to his lips, rubbing the leftover coke on his gums.   
dallon and frank did the first two lines, alpha's get the kill before the rest of the pack. gee took the biggest line there, evident he had done this too many times. he could feel the chemicals sliding down the back of his throat and numbing his nose. acidic taste burnt the back of his tongue and he took ten more lines before he felt good. and he felt good.   
frank knew the best way to gee was through coke and gee fell so easily into his grip when he was high. buzzing on franks lap and nuzzling into his neck. gee knew dallon's eyes were locked on him but he ignored them, giggling as frank began playing with his cherry red locks.   
they were talking business and gee drowned it out in favor of nibbling on frank's neck, the inked skin familiar. he didn't even notice that he was hard until a strong hand squeezed his thigh and he felt frank pressing up against him. "not now, baby," was spoken like a growl in his ear. he moved his mouth off frank's neck and pulled off of him.   
"sorry. can i get a smoke, please?" his voice was so small he could barely hear himself. hating himself for his submission to frank who gave him a smile that knew the power he had.   
"dal, you got any lines left?" he asked as he handed gee a menthol.   
"yeah." dallon's eyes locked with gerard's and he could see what dallon was seeing. that gerard was nothing but frank's slut, a coke whore addicted to frank as much as the drug.  
       nevertheless, he sunk to his knees near the table and took the lines laid in front of him. letting the buzz wash over him with the vibrating sounds of bugs hitting the light on the ceiling. the bass, from what he assumed was a speaker across the room, was low and thudding the floor beneath his bruised knees. as more and more of the stimulant soaked into his blood, everything was shaking and his hands jittered like his very bones were rattling.  
       "you good?" frank asked, a small smirk on his lips.  
       "real good frankie. thank you dal." gee giggled as he stood up, sniffling to force the powder down his throat.   
        "no problem. i'm glad you're more relaxed now," the man laughed and gee knew he should've been anxious of all of this but he was too high to mind. too lost in the pleasure of his heart beat thumping like a rabbits feet.   
that's how frank kept him. got him addicted and controlled his supply. made getting a bump as easy as giving a blowjob. the loving words were for show, gee knew deep down he was nothing but frank's whore.   
now, he looks in a mirror and can barely recognize the child before all of this. when he sees dylan, he sees the kid inside him so desperate for love he'd give up everything for it. frank did not love, and what was going on with dylan was disgusting and it made gee nauseous everytime he saw the two together. he wanted to save dylan, grab the kids wrist and drag him back to the orphanage because he'd be safer there than he ever would here.


End file.
